Chapter 6 - The Gathering Storm
Word of the incident at the Moretti estate spread through the underworld like wildfire. The news that Aleandro Moretti had broken Jimmy Valenti’s wrist and thrown him into a snowstorm over a maid’s child sent shockwaves through the national syndicate network.
Three days later, the storm had cleared, leaving Chicago draped in a thick blanket of gleaming white ice.
In the courtyard, Marco was making final preparations for a heavily armored convoy. Four black suburban vehicles were idling, their exhaust pipes billowing white steam into the freezing morning air.
Sophia stood near the entrance of the garage, wrapped in a warm wool coat that Aleandro had ordered for her. Emma was bundled up in a pink snowsuit, holding Aleandro’s hand.
Bruno trotted closely beside them, wearing a custom tactical vest that Marco had fitted for him—not for attack, but to keep him close to the child during transport.
“Are you sure about this, Aleandro?” Marco asked, approaching with a grim expression. “Meeting Don Valenti on neutral ground in Atlantic City is a trap. He controls the boardwalk security. If he decides to break the truce, we won't have enough firepower to get out.”
“Don Valenti is old, arrogant, and greedy,” Aleandro said calmly. “He won't break the truce in front of the other family bosses. It would ruin his standing. He wants the six million dollars he thinks Julian Vance hid away.”
He turned to Sophia. “You and Emma are coming with me.”
Sophia blinked in shock. “To Atlantic City? To a meeting with the men who killed my husband?”
“It’s the safest place for you,” Aleandro explained, his hand resting gently on Emma’s shoulder. “If I leave you here, Valenti will send fifty men to breach this compound the moment my plane leaves the tarmac. Beside me, under the eyes of the entire Commission, he cannot touch you without declaring war on every boss in America.”
Sophia looked down at Emma, who was happily trying to catch falling snowflakes on her tongue, completely unaware of the deadly chess game being played around her.
“I trust you, Aleandro,” Sophia said, her voice steady and filled with a quiet strength she hadn't known she possessed.
Aleandro’s eyes lingered on her face for a moment longer than necessary. “Get in the car. We have a flight to catch.”
As the convoy pulled out of the estate gates, a dark sedan parked two miles away down the wooded road flashed its headlights twice.
Inside the sedan, a man lifted a satellite phone to his ear.
May you like
“They’re on the move,” the man whispered into the receiver. “The girl, the mother, and the dog are all in Moretti’s personal vehicle. Target heading toward O’Hare Private Airport.”
On the other end of the line, a deep, raspy voice replied: “Execute Plan B. Don't let that plane touch the ground in Atlantic City.”
